


5 Times Jack and Mac Couldn't Sleep (+1 Time They Couldn't Stay Awake)

by violetvaria



Series: Stable AU [21]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Adoption, Bad Puns, Common Cold, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Halloween, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury Recovery, James is dead in chapter 5, Mac and Riley are siblings, Overeating, Platonic Cuddling, Rocking chair, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sleepiness, Stable AU, Thanksgiving, college-age Mac, dad!Jack, lots of physical affection, set throughout Stable timeline, some Jack/Diane, teen!Mac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21530002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetvaria/pseuds/violetvaria
Summary: Chapter 1: Post Stablehands + Stable Homes. After the adoption is made official, Jack is too excited to sleep.Chapter 2: Post Written in the Cards. The night of his first Halloween with Jack, Mac can't sleep as he thinks about the past and the future.Chapter 3: Post New Names and Heartbeats. Jack is too sore to sleep, but Mac helps him feel better.Chapter 4: Post Colds + Cough Syrup. Mac caught Jack's cold and is too congested to sleep. Jack stays up to take care of him.Chapter 5: Post My Only Guiding Light. In the wake of James's death, both Jack and Mac are too confused and troubled to sleep.Chapter 6: Thanksgiving. Thanks to a food coma, neither Mac nor Jack can stay awake.~~~set in dickgrysvn's Stablehands + Stable Homes AU and alongside slightly_ajar's Stable AU
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: Stable AU [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1270502
Comments: 93
Kudos: 48
Collections: Stable_AU





	1. Post Stablehands + Stable Homes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Stablehands + Stable Homes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294171) by [dickgrysvn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickgrysvn/pseuds/dickgrysvn). 
**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the adoption is made official, Jack is too excited to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to the gracious and talented dickgrysvn for creating and sharing this AU! This chapter is set near the end of the phenomenal [**Stablehands + Stable Homes**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294171). It is HIGHLY recommended to read that work before this one.
> 
> No warnings for this chapter, but some quick notes: This is, I think, the shortest chapter and contains no dialogue. It is entirely Jack's thoughts.

Growing up on a ranch, Jack witnessed the miracle of birth every spring. He had held four-legged newborns of all kinds—foals, calves, lambs, puppies, kittens. He’d even felt the tiny beating heart of a new-hatched chick, all fragile feathers and delicate down covering a warm, breathing, living creature. A baby.

There was nothing quite like the feeling of a brand-new life in his hands. Even as he got older, even as he learned to take lives instead of helping them into the world, even when he made a home with his stable and let the horses help heal his wounds inside, even then, he could still be awed, still rocked to his foundations by the smallest, most helpless of beings.

And that feeling has been so far surpassed tonight that it is but a distant memory.

Jack paces the house for the eighth time. He has tried, every time he makes a lap past his bedroom, to force himself into bed, but each time, he leaps back up, energy coursing through him like a bolt of lightning.

How can he sleep? His _son_ is just down the hall in his own bed.

His son.

Mac has lived with him for six months now, and Jack can admit that he has loved the kid far longer than that. He thought he’d experienced every parental emotion that existed. He’s been proud of the kid—so proud he thought his head might explode. He’s felt love, of course, a pulsing, pounding, _searing_ glow that nearly bursts his heart. He’s laughed with the kid, cried with him, been afraid for him, even been irritated with him. He’s claimed Mac as his son for months, and he knew that a simple appointment at court wouldn’t change anything.

He was wrong.

Mac is _his son_.

No one can ever take him away, a fear Jack didn’t know—or perhaps simply didn’t acknowledge—he’d had before now. Jack and Mac will forever be bound together, forever a family unit, forever in each other’s lives. No matter what.

Jack smiles as he thinks of the promise he offers his son—_his son_—almost every day. He has pledged to love Mac completely, forever, no matter what. And now he and Mac belong to each other that way too.

Too keyed up to sleep, Jack starts his ninth lap of the house. How can he sleep? His heart is full; it is beating out of his chest with love; it is singing so loudly he’s astonished the entire neighborhood isn’t awake and singing along.

Unable to resist, he peeks into Mac’s room for the fourth time. He doesn’t want to wake the kid, this incredible, amazing, one-of-a-kind boy who is_ Jack’s son_. It had been a long day for the teen, full of stress followed by a relief so deep he nearly trembled with the force of it, clinging to his dad’s hand like a lifeline, and when the papers were signed and it was finally official, they had celebrated all afternoon and late into the evening. Everyone at Larry’s had cheered for them, buying them drinks—milkshakes for Mac—and shaking hands and clapping shoulders and congratulating them again and again. After a few hours of questions about their future and gentle teasing of the father-son duo, even Jack had finally had enough, wanting time alone with his kid, and the sometimes-shy teen was ready to go home.

Home. As father and son.

The joyous voicemail Jack left his momma was nearly incoherent, ending abruptly when he realized Mac needed him more than he needed to share his elation with his own parent. Still giddy with delight, Jack had forced himself to calm down, to try to keep the excited trembling to a minimum, to try to gentle his voice and hide his tears of joy as he listened to the most precious person in the world.

His son.

After that phone call, it had been difficult for Jack to let go of Mac for even a moment, but when the kid nearly fell off the couch jerking himself awake—_again_—he realized he needed to let the boy go to bed. Jack was yawning too, and he figured he’d be out like a light as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Instead, he has been tiptoeing through the house for the past hour, trying not to wake Mac. And if sometimes his careful steps turn into frenetic dancing, accompanied by fingersnaps, handclaps, whistling, and the occasional snatch of a cheerful melody…well, he tries to limit these outbursts to far enough away from Mac’s room that he won’t disturb the kid’s slumber.

Jack studies his son—his remarkable, wonderful, extraordinary son—in the dark, his eyes already adjusted since he didn’t turn on any lights on his multiple domiciliary excursions. Mac is snuggled into his pillow, blankets pulled up to his chin, making that adorable whooshing sound that isn’t quite a snore but definitely means he is deeply asleep. The glow-in-the-dark paint on the stenciled stars beams dimly from the ceiling; Mac is in the process of adding more, one constellation at a time.

Jack smiles at Polaris positioned directly above the teen’s bed.

He tries to resist the urge to move closer to his own north star, just as he has each time he’s snuck into Mac’s room tonight, but he can’t ignore the desire any longer. He perches cautiously on the side of the bed, and when Mac doesn’t react, not even with a sleepy grumble, he stretches out a hand and slowly lets it rest on the kid’s blond head.

Overwhelming.

There is nothing like it. The racing pulse of a fuzzy yellow chick, the warm panting breath of a newborn kitten, the soft bleats of a lamb not yet able to stand on its own…nothing compares to the life in his hands right now.

The life of _his son_.

Jack sits motionless for what could be minutes, hours, days. His mind can only focus on the fact that this is _his child_. _His boy_. _His son_. He doesn’t need to reiterate his vows to take care of the kid, to provide for him, to protect him, to love him. All those promises are contained in a singular word.

_Son_.

A miracle. A blessing. A responsibility. A joy. A family.

_Son_.

When the soft light of morning creeps through the windows, Jack feels more refreshed than if he’d had a full eight hours of sleep. Sometime this afternoon, he’ll probably regret staying up all night, and Mac might tease Jack about the amount of coffee he will consume, to which Jack will fire back, _Like father, like son._

_Son_.

Jack was wrong when he thought nothing could be quite so fantastic as the entrance of new life into the world. But he knows, bone-deep, that he isn’t wrong this time. Nothing can ever come close to the bliss of having Mac in his life.

His son.


	2. Post Written in the Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of his first Halloween with Jack, Mac can't sleep as he thinks about the past and the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set directly after the remarkable [**Written in the Cards**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21159494) by slightly_ajar and will not make much sense without reading that first. 
> 
> Brief references to several others in this collection, including [**Stablehands + Stable Homes**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294171), [**Completely + Forever + No Matter What**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17687378), [**Ground Rules**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17594054), [**Ask Me No Questions, I'll Tell You No Lies**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20815460), [**The Pizza Incident**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19840225), and [**Fire + Ice + Truth**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19804858), but none of those are strictly necessary to understand this chapter.
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be only Mac in order to mirror the Jack-only previous chapter, but Jack sneaked in at the very end.
> 
> WARNING: implied past physical and emotional child abuse

Mac rolled over and groaned. Maybe that last handful of candy corn had been a mistake. Or it could have been the Zombie Skittles before that. Or the black and orange M&Ms. Or possibly the several dozen gummy bears he’d consumed.

Or, Mac admitted as his stomach gurgled in protest, it could have been all of the above.

He was glad Jack didn’t know how much he’d eaten. Sure, when his dad came back from a thirty-minute phone call with Diane, he’d raised his eyebrows at the empty candy dishes, but Mac had cleared away the majority of the wrappers, and he’d distracted Jack by holding up the last frosted sugar cookie and announcing, “I saved you one!”

Jack laughed, mussed his kid’s hair, and accepted the pumpkin-shaped cookie.

So at least Jack couldn’t say “I told you so.”

Mac had known it was a bad idea to basically finish the rest of the candy stash after the last of the trick-or-treaters left. But he hadn’t been able to control himself, wanting to try every ridiculous Halloween-themed snack they had. It wasn’t as if this were the first time he’d ever had these kinds of treats, but it was the first time he’d had unlimited access. James had rarely had sweets in the house, and if he did, they were certainly not frivolous holiday ones. The only time Mac got Halloween candy was at school or from friends since he’d never been permitted to go trick-or-treating.

Mac’s stomach rumbled again, and the teen rolled over, attempting to distract himself by thinking about all the good things that had happened today—and during the entire week, really. The Halloween fair. Decorating the house. Carving pumpkins. Lady Yana aka Laura. Dressing up in a costume that he got to choose. Wishing the cheerful trick-or-treaters a happy Halloween. So many good memories.

Mac recalled them deliberately, not wanting to forget a single moment of his new life with Jack. He remembered lying awake in bed _before_, thinking about his dad, but those ruminations had not been nearly so pleasant.

_Figure out what you did wrong, idiot. Then you won’t make Dad mad again._

Logical syllogisms did not hold much weight with Mac. They were too simplistic, too open to error. In theory, it should go like this: _I asked Dad if I could go to a classmate’s birthday party. He wasn’t mad. Therefore, if I ask again, he won’t be mad this time._

In reality, that wasn’t what happened.

Mac came to realize that there must be other variables at play, that simple requests or actions did not exist in a vacuum and were influenced by other events.

Syllogisms had failed him, but Mac had tremendous faith in the scientific method. Gather data, formulate a hypothesis, experiment to test the hypothesis, draw conclusions. He had plenty of raw data and was continually gathering more, so it shouldn’t be that hard to find a working theory.

It was harder than Mac had expected. It was impossible to control for every factor.

_Okay, I looked Dad in the eyes to show I was paying attention, and he said I was being defiant. Better not look at him._

_I kept my head down to show respect, and he said I was avoiding responsibility. Maybe I need to look up for short intervals. But how long?_

_Three seconds at a time wasn’t right._

_Ten seconds at a time wasn’t right._

_Six seconds at a time wasn’t right. Maybe there’s another element I’m missing?_

When he had come to live with Jack—Jack said it was when he _came home_—Mac had known he couldn’t rely on syllogisms. _My dad didn’t like it when I asked questions. Jack is my dad now. Therefore…_

No. That didn’t make sense. But the scientific method had never failed Mac, even if it was sometimes slow.

_Jack said he would always keep his promises. More evidence required._

_He promised we would go to the Halloween fair together. We did. We had fun._

_He promised he’d give me money every week for lunch. He does. He asks me if I ate, but he never wants the change back._

_He promised he’d pack me a lunch at least once a week. He does. He never includes anything I don’t like, and he writes little notes on napkins._

_He promised he wouldn’t come into my lab without knocking first. He doesn’t. And he never complains how messy or disorganized it is._

So far, it has been remarkably easy to formulate theories about life with Jack, and new evidence only strengthened those theories.

Mac hesitantly acknowledged another hypothesis. _If I woke Jack up because I don’t feel good, he wouldn’t be mad. He’d try to help._

There was nothing Jack could do, so Mac didn’t _want_ to wake him, but it made him feel a little better to think that he _could_ without repercussions. Even if Jack found out about his candy-binge and, against all odds, didn’t just laugh it off, he would merely gently admonish Mac for doing something when he knew better. Then he’d probably segue into a story about how he’d done something much, much dumber when he was Mac’s age, never giving the teen the opportunity even for a second to feel threatened or nervous or unwanted.

Mac had ample evidence of that.

Back when he’d first moved in with Jack, he’d broken a wineglass. He was ashamed of his terrified reaction now, of how he’d forced Jack to soothe him through a panic attack that was—as his panic attacks often were—completely unreasonable. It wasn’t as though Jack would ever hurt his son. Mac had said as much to their social worker when she’d arrived on a day the teen had a black eye. Jack would _never_ raise a hand against his son.

That didn’t mean those fears didn’t creep back sometimes. After Mac’s suspension from school, arguably the worst thing he’d done since coming home to Jack, he’d wondered why his dad wasn’t angry. He knew Jack wouldn’t hit him without reason, but he expected yelling for sure, and this time he would have _deserved_ a slap, at the very least. But Jack hadn’t done that.

Mac decided to get out of bed. Lying down wasn’t helping, but maybe taking a few laps around the house would. And it would give him one more chance to admire the decorations festooning every room.

The wire-and-plastic monster would need to be out of the truck tomorrow so Jack could drive, but Mac wasn’t sure when his dad would insist they take down the rest of the Halloween decorations. While there was a twinge of disappointment at the thought of the rubber arms and pumpkins and black-and-orange garlands disappearing, Mac found he was also looking forward to whatever Jack had in mind for Thanksgiving. And Christmas after that. And then New Year. And soon behind that would be Valentine’s Day, and then…

Mac smiled despite his still-churning stomach. He was doing better at thinking about the future. Looking forward to all the good things that were coming rather than dwelling on the…_unpleasantness_ of his past.

A low-hanging spider web that he’d forgotten about brushed his ear, and he jumped slightly, laughing at himself, careful to muffle the sound. Jack had freakishly good hearing when it came to his son, and Mac had already decided not to wake him.

Unlike some of his decisions, Mac knew this wasn’t a bad one. Jack might fuss a little if he found out Mac had been up all night, but if he didn’t find out, there would be no harm done, and Jack would have gotten a good night’s rest.

Not that Mac intended to lie if Jack asked. He’d learned that Jack really wanted to know what had actually happened, what Mac really thought, and that he wasn’t expecting a particular response.

Mac usually appreciated that. He’d hated some of the opinions he’d been forced to pretend to subscribe to in order to placate an angry James. Hated having to act as though he thought Halloween was juvenile and pointless. Hated having to agree that birthday parties were for the infantile and weak-minded and were just a scam to force others to spend money on presents. Hated having to say that he didn’t need or want anything for Christmas.

And even when that meant he had to admit something Jack wouldn’t like, like the fact that he hadn’t gone to bed—or, more accurately, that he hadn’t _stayed_ in bed—even that would be okay. Jack might sigh, might be worried, but he would almost certainly reach for Mac and pull him close, and although he’d lived with Jack for months, Mac still treasured having his dad’s undivided attention, and he always felt safe and loved and grounded with Jack’s arms around him.

Mac wondered suddenly if this counted as breaking Rule Two. He’d promised Jack multiple times to say something if he were sick or hurt. But he wasn’t actually sick; he’d just overeaten. And he wasn’t injured. So Rule Two shouldn’t apply here.

He thought about how Jack would respond to that if he were forced to share his logic.

Even though Mac’s theories about life with Jack had never been disproven, that didn’t mean he could anticipate everything. He’d thought Jack would be upset the time Mac tried to run away before the final adoption hearing. He’d thought Jack would be angry when Mac decided to prank him and Diane during one of their dates. He’d been wrong on both counts.

So even though his prediction was that Jack would be disappointed about Mac not telling him he wasn’t feeling good, he might be wrong again. Or he could be wrong about being wrong. Or he might not be factoring in—

Mac drew himself up short, both mentally and physically, pausing to stare idly at an imitation candle flickering in a jack-o-lantern. He and Jack both favored real candles and actual fire, but Jack had allowed it only for a short time, both Daltons admiring their handiwork, before heeding Diane’s warnings and switching to the less dangerous substitutes.

Laura had been astonishingly intuitive, Mac reflected. She had seemed to know things, or perhaps had read them from the teen’s body language, that he hadn’t told anyone, hadn’t even shared with Jack. Mac wondered if Laura was like Riley, if she had grown up with some of the same shadows in her past that haunted his friend. It didn’t matter, he decided. Was she truly psychic? Was she just amazingly good at reading gestures and facial expressions, interpreting them, and drawing conclusions based on reactions?

It really didn’t matter. What she’d said made sense. She’d been helpful.

He shouldn’t dwell on the past, especially on the things he couldn’t control and couldn’t know. He _didn’t_ know for sure his mother had been warm and happy and loving, and maybe he never could know. But there was no reason to believe his memories were false, so he might as well believe she’d been as he remembered.

He _didn’t_ know if he would have ever, after countless attempts, discovered the formula that would please James and prevent him from getting angry. But the odds were significantly against it because what had happened wasn’t Mac’s fault.

He was still working on fully believing that.

So even though he didn’t always know exactly what Jack would do or say, he could count on the things he did know. Jack wouldn’t deliberately hurt him without reason—and if the fight at school hadn’t been reason enough, it would take something pretty serious to warrant a _lickin’_, as Jack called it when he was talking about his own childhood. Jack was safe. Mac was safe with Jack. He knew that for sure.

Jack wanted the best for him. He proved that over and over, checking that Mac ate enough, that he wore warm enough clothes—once _chasing his son to the bus_ with a jacket in hand, which Mac just barely prevented his dad from zipping up for him—and that he slept enough.

Mac realized with a pang of guilt that his lack of sleep tonight would make Jack feel bad if he noticed how tired the teen was in the morning. Coffee, and a lot of it, was clearly called for.

Jack always let Mac have as much coffee as he wanted.

Mac wandered into the kitchen, admiring the half of a witch’s broom stuck to a cabinet, as though its rider had smashed into the door, and smiling at the giant spider nestled in the fruit bowl next to some apples. The refrigerator was his favorite, not just at Halloween, but all year. Jack proudly displayed Mac’s schoolwork—to the point that Diane joked she had no idea what color the fridge was—and he liked printing photos and putting them up too. There were already several from the Halloween fair: one of Jack and Diane that had been taken in a funhouse mirror that made them both look like they were about twelve feet tall; one of Mac and Riley frowning in concentration as they competed on the ring toss; one of the four of them holding up their unnaturally delicious hotdogs in salute, cheesy grins firmly in place; and Mac’s favorite, one that Diane must have taken of Mac and Jack pretending to groom a horse on the carousel. Jack’s arms were around his son as he stood behind him, the same way they had been the first time he’d demonstrated the technique when Mac started working at the stable, and Mac’s head was tipped back in laughter.

There was an addition to the fridge that Mac hadn’t noticed before. He peered closer and saw a Stormtrooper high-fiving a small glittering star and realized with a shock that it was from tonight. Jack must have snapped a photo of Mac and Cassi without his son realizing it, and he’d apparently spent the time he was chatting with Diane using his photo printer. There was also a photo of Mac surrounded by packaging debris, tongue poking out as he worked on his project, and a follow-up photo of the finished product, Mac leaning in as though making friends with the monster truck.

Grinning uncontrollably, Mac opened the refrigerator to pour himself a glass of milk. His stomach was already feeling better, and he had an idea.

He had one more Halloween surprise to finish. Mac drank his milk and headed down to his basement lab.

When Jack awoke the next morning, it was to the scent of pumpkin-spiced coffee. He stumbled into the kitchen, where he found his son working on what was definitely _not_ his first cup, Jack’s mug already poured and waiting. Jack mumbled his thanks and took a cautious sip, deciding the sweetness was unusual but not unwelcome.

“You’re up early.”

“I made you something.” Mac’s eyes were shining, but he suddenly dropped his head shyly, the way he did when it dawned on him that perhaps whatever he had to offer wasn’t as good as he thought it was.

“Mm.” Jack grunted and reached out one arm to pull his son into his side, keeping a firm grip on his coffee with the other hand. “Something besides this coffee? That’s two nice surprises. What’d I do to deserve that, huh?”

Mac blushed and wiggled away. “It—it’s actually for you and Diane.”

Jack put his coffee down to give his son his full attention, eyebrows lifting. “Yeah?”

Fidgeting with both nerves and excitement, Mac fumbled on the counter and thrust the object at Jack. “I didn’t have time to wrap it.”

“Umm…” Jack took the sphere with both hands. “It’s…a Magic 8 ball?”

“Sort of. You like fortunetellers, so I made you one.” Mac was grateful his friends all knew his passion for taking things apart and using pieces of one thing to make something else. He couldn’t remember who had gifted him the old Magic 8 ball, but it hadn’t taken long to deconstruct it, figure out how it worked, and then adjust it to suit his purposes.

“Okaaay.” Jack still sounded doubtful but also amused. “So what should I ask it?”

Mac grinned. “Ask about the future, of course.”

“Oh, of course. So, great Magic-Mac ball, what’s in my future?” Jack shook the globe hard and they watched a plastic disk bob to the top of the liquid and press against the viewing screen.

“Wha—” Jack’s jaw dropped.

Mac crowded closer to see which one had appeared.

“Kiddo…” Jack breathed in awe.

It was a tiny picture of Jack, Diane, Riley, and Mac grinning into the camera that Jack was holding up so they could all fit in the frame.

Mac smirked to see his dad speechless. Waiting for the waterproof lacquer to dry had been the longest part of the entire process, but it had given him a chance to dig out the flavoring for the coffee. And the look on Jack’s face made every second worth it.

“Mac…” Jack whispered, voice tight and eyes moist. “How…”

“You really want to know?”

Jack shook the ball again, watching as another photo floated up, and then another. “No,” he said huskily. “I already know. You’re magic.”

Mac rolled his eyes fondly, accepting the warm embrace Jack pulled him into, finally feeling like he could fall asleep, right here, right now, with his dad’s calloused hand cradling the back of his head.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Jack murmured.

Mac hummed, burrowing comfortably into his dad’s soft shirt.

“Our future’s gonna be amazing too, isn’t it?” Jack said dreamily, resting his cheek on the soft blond hair on his shoulder.

_Our _future_._ Not _mine_. _Ours_.

“Signs point to yes,” Jack added, tapping the former Magic 8 ball, and Mac huffed a laugh, remembering the answers on the icosahedron he’d pulled from the globe before replacing it with a larger six-sided die.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s my hypothesis too.”

Jack released his son and raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess we better get to work proving your hypothermia, right?”

Mac groaned, but he willingly dug the bacon out of the freezer and handed it to Jack, heading off to his room to get dressed while his dad made breakfast.

The scientific method had never failed him, and Mac was confident that his theories about life with Jack would continue to collect irrefutable evidence.

After all, Jack had never failed him either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts (maybe): there are brief references to at least three works in this series that have not yet been written/completed (Jack teaching Mac to groom a horse when he first starts working at the stable, their social worker visiting when Mac has a black eye, and Mac trying to run away). Also, please note that Stableverse Jack would never physically discipline Mac, but at this point, Mac isn't one-hundred-percent sure of that simply for the sake of a plot point in a later work that might eventually (I hope) be finished.
> 
> Here is an example of a [**Magic 8 Ball**](https://store.kittyhawk.com/products/mattel-toy-magic-8-ball-111852).


	3. Post New Names and Heartbeats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is too sore to sleep, but Mac helps him feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set after the amazing [**New Names and Heartbeats**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20719454) by slightly_ajar and will not make much sense without reading that one first.
> 
> Brief references to [**Mono a Mono**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18128465) and practically unnoticeable reference to [**Burglary + Gun**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19376266). It is not necessary to read those first. References also to [**Stablehands + Stable Homes**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294171).
> 
> Warnings: moderate pain due to an injury, really bad puns

Jack sat up in bed and groaned. Man, that hurt.

The meds he’d taken had knocked him out for…well, he was still too groggy to check the time, but there was no light filtering through the curtains, so he’d been asleep for hours. The pills had clearly worn off, if the aching in his back was any indication.

He tried to stand and swayed dangerously, his head feeling like it was full of cotton. He managed to catch himself with a hand on the headboard, which ignited further pain when he moved his shoulder.

Obviously, he wasn’t going back to sleep in this condition.

As much as he needed them, he was reluctant to take more painkillers just yet. He wanted to give his mind a chance to clear. He was a little fuzzy on _why_ this seemed so important right now, but the notion propelled him—slowly—into the living room, where he eased carefully onto the couch, telling himself he could always stretch out for a nap there if he got tired.

But he knew he wouldn’t sleep.

Then Mac walked in, one hand rubbing his eyes, mumbling around a yawn, “Jack?”

And Jack knew exactly why he couldn’t sleep.

“Hey, kiddo. Why aren’t you in bed, huh?”

“Why aren’t you?” Mac fired back immediately. Then his face dropped in concern. “Are you in pain? Do you need your meds? I can get—”

“Mac. Hold your horses, all right?”

Mac shut his mouth and scowled.

“Yeah, too soon for that one, huh?” Jack murmured apologetically.

“I’ll get your pills,” Mac said shortly.

“No. Hey, kid. C’mere, look at me.” Jack waited until his son dragged himself around the couch so Jack didn’t have to twist to see him. “I’m fine, okay?”

Mac was silent for a moment, and Jack attempted to look as fine as he possibly could.

“You know,” Mac began mildly, “if I tried that, I’d get an hour-long lecture. At least.”

Apparently Jack hadn’t hidden his grimaces as well as he’d thought. “That so?” he managed, still aiming for levity.

Mac wasn’t buying it. “It would be about twenty minutes on why I shouldn’t hide injuries, ten minutes on not lying, and ten minutes of pacing and rhetorical questions.”

“That’s only…uh…thir—fo—”

“The other twenty minutes would just be filler. Mostly rants that don’t go anywhere and stories that you think make sense.”

“My stories _always_ make sense.”

“Sure, Jack.” The tone was sarcastic, but Mac was smiling faintly now, and the ache Jack hadn’t realized was in his chest eased. As if a weight had been removed, his back stopped throbbing so fiercely, and his shoulders relaxed when Mac sat on the end of the couch next to his dad’s feet.

“Think I’m so predictable, do you, kid?”

“You are.”

“Well, I’ll—”

“I like predictable.”

At the quiet but firm declaration, Jack hesitated. “You do, don’t you?” he mused, as though this were new information. Now that he’d heard it out loud, he guessed he’d always known it. “Just boring same old routine day in and day out, huh?”

“I didn’t say _routine_, Jack. I said _predictable_.”

“Uh-huh. I surprised you once, you know.”

“You did,” Mac acknowledged. “It was…not horrible.” He ignored his dad’s grumbling about ingratitude. “But you know I’d rather not be surprised, even with good stuff.”

“I know, son,” Jack said gently, inching his feet toward the edge of the couch. Without a word, Mac grabbed his ankles and helped him shift so he was sitting more or less upright. Jack grunted. “Guess you knew I was gonna do that, huh, wiseguy?”

“Yep. Just like I knew you were going to wake up about now and refuse to go back to sleep because you were thinking about me.”

Jack scowled. “Did you set an alarm so you’d wake up when I did?”

Mac smirked. “Maybe.” He grabbed a throw blanket just as Jack held out an arm. Mac’s smirk grew. “And now you’re going to tell me to get over there.”

“Just hush your smart mouth and come here, you.”

Mac curled under his dad’s arm, moving cautiously and checking with every movement that he wasn’t aggravating any injuries. Jack forced himself to remain patient until they were finally settled with the blanket spread over them.

“That’s better,” he murmured.

Mac hummed in response. They lapsed into silence.

“Jack?”

“Mm-hm?”

“You were asleep before I got back from the stable.”

Jack’s arms automatically tightened around his son in apology. “I’m sor—”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?”

“You’re supposed to be resting. Why would you apologize for that?” Mac sounded exasperated, and Jack felt the need to defend himself.

“Well, it’s hardly fair, me cuttin’ out early and leavin’ you to finish up.”

“It’s fine, Jack.”

“I appreciate that, son, but it is unfair. Puts burdens on you that—”

“_Jack_. Stop it. You—you’re a real hypocrite sometimes, you know?”

“Oh, we’re insulting each other now, is that it? ‘Cause—”

“Jack!” Mac struggled upright. “I just meant that you wouldn’t let _me_ get away with blaming myself for things out of my control. You’d probably tell me I had to talk to Dr. Amanda about it some more.”

“Well, that’s dif—”

“How is it different?”

Jack looked away, unable to meet his son’s bright, steady gaze. “Because the whole mess was my fault.”

The silence stretched out for so long, Jack glanced back to see Mac’s mouth hanging open.

“You—you were right, kiddo. Hal was dangerous—and it isn’t his fault—but I should’ve taken better precautions. And I _will_ from now on, promise. Won’t rush him so much. That’s on me.”

“It’s not your fault you got hurt, Jack,” Mac whispered, barely audible.

“Maybe not, but you’re havin’ to deal with the fallout. Takin’ care of me, takin’ care of the horses…heck, even Herschel’s balls are in your court right now.”

Mac groaned. “That was bad. And Pepper pretty much has him taken care of. He was sleeping on top of her when I left.”

“She’s making sure he isn’t too _cheeky_, huh?”

“That was your two for the day.”

“I never promised that.”

Mac began picking at a thread in the blanket. Jack automatically started to reach toward the end table, wincing at the movement, but the teen saw what he was doing and beat him to it, snatching one of the fidget toys Dr. Amanda had given him. They both watched for a minute as it twirled in one slender hand.

“Jack? Do you remember when—” Mac cringed, but there was no help for it. He’d have to say it. “—when I got mono?”

Jack’s eyebrows rose. “Not likely to forget that one, son. You looked like the kiss of death for a while there.”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Mac grumbled.

“Hey, you upset? I’m sorry, kid. Let’s kiss and make up.”

“That’s still not funny. And before you ask, _yes_, I want you to kiss your puns goodbye.”

Jack threw back his head and laughed. It felt so good it was totally worth the spasm in his back.

“Oof.”

“Stay here.” Mac was off the couch like a shot before his dad could complain that he wasn’t likely to be going anywhere for a while.

Mac was back in less than a minute with a glass of water and Jack’s medication. “Here.”

Jack accepted both items, but he put them on the small table at his elbow.

“Jack.”

“I’ll take ‘em, kid. Geez, no need to go all—”

“All _Jack_ on you?”

Jack scratched an ear. “I feel like I should be insulted, but I’m actually kinda proud of that one, so I’ll take it. But they’ll knock me out, and I wanna hear what you have to say first.”

Mac sighed and dropped back on to the couch. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

“Or you could tell me now.”

Mac shrugged and gave in. “When I had—anyway, you told me it was your job to take care of me.”

Jack’s brow knitted. “Yeah…?”

“And you said—you said there was nothing you’d rather be doing.”

“Well, that’s true—”

“So why do you think that only goes one way?”

Jack blinked, unable to come up with any words.

“I—you’re my dad. I want to help you. I _like_ to help you.”

“I appreciate that, son.” Jack cleared his throat but couldn’t manage to raise his voice above a husky whisper. “And I am so grateful you were there to call for help, and I’m so proud of you handlin’ everything the way you did. But all of this?” Jack waved a hand. “Not your responsibility.”

Mac growled. “It doesn’t have to be my _responsibility_, Jack. We’re not keeping score like—what did you say?—we’re tallying up IOUs?”

“Now, that’s fightin’ dirty. Usin’ a man’s words against him.”

“Well, you say a lot of words.”

“Nice to know you listen to your old man.”

“You promised you’d listen to me too. Remember?”

Jack grunted. “Yeah, all right. I hear ya.”

“Really?” Mac asked skeptically.

“Yeah, yeah. I love you, you love me, we’re a big dinosaur family, and we take care of each other.”

Mac’s head jerked back. “_What_ about dinosaurs?”

“Man, you never saw _Barney_? We gotta—well, now that I think about it, you didn’t miss much.”

Mac didn’t try to unpick that. “Do you promise to stop feeling guilty when I help you?”

“How about I promise to try?”

A smile ghosted over Mac’s lips. “You used to ask me to do that. Before.”

When Mac said _before_ in that tone, Jack never needed to ask what he meant.

“Did I?” he prompted as neutrally as possible.

Mac sounded almost wistful. “I remember you asking me to promise to try to eat more and take better care of myself.”

“Yeah? What’d you say?”

“I said I’d try.”

“And did you?” Jack wanted to kick himself. It wasn’t like Mac had had much control over his own life when he’d lived with James.

“Yeah, I tried.”

Jack sucked in a breath. “I guess…that’s all we can ask for, huh?”

“Yeah. You—still remind me to—you know—eat and stuff. So I can remind you too, right?”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Jack agreed fondly. “I’ll try to listen when you play nursemaid.”

“So are you going to take your pills now?”

Jack started to reach for them and hesitated. “Was there anything else on your mind?”

“Like what?”

Jack dropped his hand and scowled. “Can it with the innocent face. Now I know you were thinkin’ somethin’.”

“It can wait, Jack. You need your rest.”

“As if I’m gonna sleep now,” Jack scoffed.

“You will if you take those.”

Jack wouldn’t win this with logic. He went with the tried-and-true tactic of guilt. “C’mon, kid, I’m just gonna worry about you all night. That’s why I got up, you know. To make sure you were okay.”

As Jack had anticipated, Mac bit his lip. “You didn’t have to. I’m fine.”

“Mac. Just spit it out.”

Mac’s fingers twitched against the fidget toy he’d dropped to the cushion. “I—I was just wondering if…”

Jack made an encouraging noise.

“If you’d heard back from Mr. Brooks.”

That wasn’t what Jack had been expecting. “What?”

“Sorry. It can wait.”

“No.” Jack shook his head. “Just caught me off-guard there for a second. Yeah. He called me.”

Mac looked up, eyes full of questions he wouldn’t ask, both hope and dread in his expression.

“It’s okay,” Jack said gently. He should have known Mac would be thinking about the conversation Jack had had with his lawyer earlier that day. “He checked into it. He’ll have to draft the legal documents and all, but since you’re sixteen and my only heir—”

Mac wrinkled his nose at the word choice but kept silent.

“—if something happens and I can’t take care of you…” Jack swallowed and forced himself not to dwell on the idea. “You’ll be emancipated.”

The breath Mac let out seemed to deflate him like a balloon, and he sank into Jack’s side. It was what he’d wanted, but somehow, it didn’t make him feel better.

“But that ain’t gonna happen, kiddo.” Jack ignored his aching muscles and wrapped both arms around his son. “I promised I’d be more careful with Hal, and I will. I’m not gonna leave you, son.”

They both knew Jack couldn’t promise that, but Mac didn’t comment, burrowing closer instead.

“We’re always gonna figure things out together, okay?” Jack whispered into the blond hair under his chin. They’d need to meet with Mr. Brooks in the next few weeks and iron out details—Jack hadn’t wanted to mention it yet, but this would make Mac responsible for medical decisions if Jack couldn’t make them himself, not to mention all the business and other financial burdens that would fall on the kid. Jack shuddered. Mac was brilliant and mature, and he had no doubt the teen could handle it if he had to, but Jack didn’t want to put him through that. He renewed his vow to implement greater safety measures at the stable.

As if hearing his thoughts, Mac said softly, “Did you push Hal because—” He cut himself off.

“Because what?”

“B-because you wanted him to get better?”

Jack tipped his head. There was a question behind the question, and he wasn’t quite sure what it was. “I just got too cocky, that’s all. Pushed my luck a little.” Mac didn’t respond. “But I did—I do want him to feel safe.”

Mac twitched slightly, and suddenly Jack understood.

“But I _wasn’t_ tryna rush him into anything. That was just a—miscalcium.”

Mac’s nose wrinkled. “Miscalculation?”

“He can take all the time he needs. I’m never gonna be impatient with his progress.”

After a long silence, Mac offered, “Even if—even if he’s still…jumping at shadows and stuff…after almost a year?”

Jack spoke carefully. “I don’t care if it takes the rest of his life. He’s part of our family now, and we’re gonna support him and help him and let him take all the time he needs.”

There was another pause before Mac ventured, “What if—what if he messes up? Um, hurts you again, I mean.”

“Mac.” Jack couldn’t keep himself from squeezing his son so tightly he elicited a small squeak. Then he slackened his grip just enough to allow Mac to breathe. “Do you think Hal _meant_ to hurt me? That he was delicious or something?”

He felt the kid relax against him and inwardly cheered. “He wasn’t _malicious_, Jack. Just…”

“Just scared and hurting?”

Mac nodded slowly.

“So how could I—we be mad at him for that? For still tryna figure out that he’s safe?”

“But—” Jack couldn’t see his son’s face, but he could tell Mac was biting his lip again.

“And maybe when he gets more used to us…maybe he’ll start pushing it a little, just to see what he can get away with. And we won’t hold that against him either. Won’t think less of him. Most—most of the horses went through a phase, you know.”

“Even Pepper?”

Jack snorted. “_Especially_ Pepper. I told you how she figured out how to unlock her door until you fixed it.”

Mac giggled. “She still tries, you know. She might find a way out again.”

“She’s pretty smart,” Jack agreed with reluctant respect. “But I’m sure my genius son can outwit that Godforsaken, thick-headed, stubborn donkey.”

“No wonder she likes me better.” Mac sounded smug. “You’re always yelling that at her.”

“Well, it’s true. But she’s also the Queen of Dalton Stables, and she knows it. Can’t really argue with royalty, can we?”

“Mm.” Mac tucked his face into the collar of Jack’s shirt, but he could tell the kid was smiling.

“Sounds like she’s adopted herself a cat, too,” Jack murmured, pitching his voice to a soothing tone meant to lull Mac into—if not sleepiness—a state of calm. “Prince Herschel. And Herschel knows that you don’t mess with Uranus.”

Mac rolled off the couch and popped up, glaring. “That wasn’t even a good attempt.”

Jack shrugged, unrepentant, wincing as the movement pulled at his back. “It’s the middle of the night. And not every _ass_-teroid can hit its mark.”

“That’s it.” Mac grabbed his hands. “I’m taking you back to bed.”

Jack laughed. “Gonna tuck me in? Maybe tell me a bedtime—_fu-oww_.”

Mac stopped tugging immediately, dropping to his knees in front of his dad. “Jack? Are you okay? I’m sorry, did I hurt you? Where does it hurt? Is it bad? Do you—”

“Hey,” Jack gasped, holding up a hand. “Just moved a little too fast, that’s all. It’s not your fault.” He took in the disbelief on his son’s face. “It isn’t. I shoulda taken the pills when you brought ‘em. I’ll do that now, okay?”

Mac silently picked up the tablets from the end table and held them out, along with the water. He watched, expressionless, as Jack downed them.

“Sorry, kid.”

“What for?”

“I wanted to stay up with you.”

“Jack. You’ve been up for an hour already. You should have been sleeping this whole time.”

“Well, you think I can sleep when I’m thinkin’ about the Dalton prince?”

Mac blushed and scowled simultaneously. “_Herschel_ can wait until tomorrow. So you can get your butt in bed.”

Jack grinned and allowed his son to help him stand, much more cautiously this time. “You tellin’ me to pull my head outta my ass?”

“I would never say that, Jack,” Mac said sweetly, securing his dad’s arm around his shoulders to support him as they moved slowly toward Jack’s bedroom.

“’Cause you love and respect me so much?” Jack was panting a little with exertion, but his tone was still teasing.

“Because you’d kick my butt for not respecting my olders if I did.”

“You mean _elders_.”

“I meant what I said.”

Jack snorted. “Not sure whether to be proud of you or offended right now.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive, Jack,” Mac sing-songed, parroting what his dad had once said to him.

“Hmph.” Jack face-planted onto the mattress. “Where you goin’?” Without looking, he managed to snag Mac’s wrist.

“Just getting some cream.” Mac pulled away gently, the little whine of dissatisfaction from Jack spurring him to hurry. He returned from the bathroom in under a minute. “Here. Can you take your shirt off?”

Jack turned his head enough to look at Mac with one eye. “That’s new.”

“Jack.” Mac forced himself to remain patient. “The doctor said you could use a pain-relief cream. This is what you had in your cabinet.” He held up a bottle of Absorbine Jr, uncapping it and taking a sniff. “It smells…strong. But it’s half-empty, so I guess you’ve used it before.”

Jack responded instantly to the sudden concern in his son’s voice. “Just part of gettin’ older, kiddo. I don’t make a habit of gettin’ injured, you know.”

Mac said nothing as he helped Jack slide his t-shirt over his head, pouring some cream into his hands and letting it warm for a second. Even so, Jack hissed when it touched his skin.

“I can do this myself, you know,” he grumped.

“Uh-huh. As if you would.”

“I might.”

“And we _just_ talked about this. I like helping you, remember?”

The cream was beginning to soak in, and Jack melted a little into the bed. “Mm. I’m gonna hold you to that if I ever really get sick.”

Mac paused, hands in mid-air. “This doesn’t count?”

“Nah. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

Mac said nothing, wiping his hands on a tissue and recapping the bottle. He set it delicately on Jack’s nightstand, as though a sudden noise would aggravate his dad’s back.

“That was originally for horses, you know.”

As accustomed as he was to his dad’s random comments, Mac was still caught off-balance. “What?”

“Absorbine. Was for horses. Worked for humans, too, so they made the junior version.”

“Huh.” Mac digested that for a while.

“Always liked the stuff after I heard that.”

Mac narrowed his eyes. “Is that why you always compare me to a horse?”

“What?”

“Like last week when you said colts weren’t ready for too much horsepower, which I think meant I wasn’t allowed to take the GTO.”

“I said you could take the truck. What’re you yammerin’ about?”

“Do you wish you were a horse? And you want me to be one too?”

“Uh, kid, maybe the fumes are a little strong for you. Wanna open a window or somethin’?”

Mac laughed. “I’m fine, Jack.” He suppressed another chuckle, but his eyes were sparkling. “I just figured something out.”

“Yeah? Wanna share?”

“You said you look at Hal and you see me.”

Hesitantly, Jack nodded.

“But I think you look at _me_, and you see…you.”

Jack patted the bed beside him, and Mac fussed with the blankets for a minute, making sure Jack was covered comfortably, before settling on top of the bedspread and sitting up against the headboard.

“Nah, buddy,” Jack said, voice rough. “I see somebody _better_ ‘n me. Smarter. Kinder. Better. I see _you_.” He groped until he found Mac’s hand. Mac let him take it. “But you’re kinda right too.”

Mac tilted his head, smiling tolerantly as Jack’s words started slurring. “Yeah?”

“I look ‘t you…and I see someone who belongs _with_ me. My family.”

Mac tightened his grip as Jack’s hand went limp.

“My son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another reference to an unfinished work in this series (Jack surprising Mac).
> 
> The bit about [**Absorbine Jr**](https://www.absorbinejr.com) is more or less true.
> 
> This is the [**Barney the Dinosaur**](https://youtu.be/ix9wpslKwBE) theme song.


	4. Post Colds + Cough Syrup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac caught Jack's cold and is too congested to sleep. Jack stays up to take care of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set after [**Colds + Cough Syrup**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17772668). It is not strictly necessary to read that one first, but there are many references to it.

Mac snuffled miserably as he rolled over for the twenty-third time, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep. Just like the last twenty-two times, the new position did nothing to help.

Mac grabbed a pillow to put over his face to muffle his groans. It wasn’t like he could breathe anyway, so what was a little more suffocation? And he didn’t want to wake Jack, who, granted, should be asleep in his own bedroom right now, but who had freaky bat-like hearing when it came to his son.

He’d arrived home from school and grumbled, “I have a cold. It’s fine.” He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide his runny nose, his watery eyes, his red cheeks, his chapped lips, or—most damning of all—his hacking cough. And he had no desire to sit through a Jack Dalton lecture—the shortest of which clocked in at thirty-seven minutes—that could be summed up in five seconds: “Tell me when you’re sick.”

So he _had_. Jack couldn’t say that Mac hadn’t told him.

And Mac was pleasantly surprised. As recently as a year ago, Jack would have done everything short of rushing him immediately to the hospital—and would have only just barely shown that much restraint—taking Mac’s temperature, offering him soup and juice, heating up JJ’s rice pack, and insisting on tucking him into bed and checking on him approximately every fifteen minutes. In fairness, Mac wouldn’t have said anything until he was on the verge of collapse, and he would have looked like death warmed over.

This time Jack just murmured sympathetically, asked if he wanted something to eat, and when Mac refused, gently suggested a nap and told Mac to call if he needed anything. Mac promised he would, and he _meant_ it. It had been a long road to earn Jack’s trust when it came to his son’s well-being. He had no desire to destroy all that with one foolish decision.

But that was six hours ago. Calling his dad now meant waking him up, and it wasn’t like Jack could do anything to help. It was just a cold.

Sure, it would be nice to have something to drink or some more cough drops. And maybe some hot soup wouldn’t be such a bad thing since Mac had slept through dinner. And JJ’s rice pack was no longer warm enough to help ease the tightness in his chest. But those were all things Mac could do for himself. He certainly didn’t need to wake Jack just because _he_ couldn’t sleep.

After burying another coughing fit in his pillows—he would _really_ need to do laundry soon—Mac reluctantly sat up and slipped out of bed. Lying down was doing no good, so he might as well go to the kitchen. He brought JJ along, solely to reheat the rice pack. _Not_ because he needed his plush friend with him.

He wouldn’t have Jack or JJ at MIT.

The thought hit him out of the blue as he was mesmerized by the microwave spinning the bowl of soup Jack had left for him. If he got sick while he was at college, he’d have to take care of himself. And there was no way he was taking a stuffed animal with him to a dorm room.

He sank into a chair, even more miserable than before.

“Mac?”

Drat. His dad was a notoriously light sleeper, able to go from snoring like a tractor to wide awake within seconds. The ping of the microwave had probably roused him.

“’M fine.”

“Uh-huh. You sound fine. _Fine_ means _at death’s door_, right?”

Mac aimed a half-hearted glare, ruined when he coughed again.

“Okay, kiddo. How about I get your soup for you, and then I’ll grab some cough syrup?” Mac hadn’t yet moved to retrieve the bowl from the microwave, so Jack crossed the room to get it himself.

Arguing was pointless, especially when he could only manage a few words without coughing again, which Mac discovered when he warned, “If you try to feed me—”

When the coughing fit had passed, Jack was standing next to him, a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Now, when have I ever tried to do that?” he chided, handing Mac a spoon and watching intently until Mac took a bite.

The warm liquid brought an instant rush of relief. Mac spooned up three more mouthfuls before responding. “Every chance you get. You tried to feed me pizza the other week.”

“I thought you wanted to try it! You said sausage-and-hashbrown pizza looked better than calamari.”

Mac couldn’t deny that. “Doesn’t mean you had to hold the slice for me.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Well, excuse me for caring that my son eats enough.” Without being asked, he grabbed JJ, removed the rice pack, and popped it into the microwave before moving to the refrigerator and pouring a glass of juice.

Mac shook his head in fond exasperation, but he accepted the drink. “It’s okay, Jack,” he said softly. “I’m healthy now, remember?” Gaining weight when he’d come to live with Jack had taken longer than either of them liked, but he’d maintained a suitable weight for several months now, even if it was still on the lower end of the spectrum. He was afraid that sometimes when Jack looked at him, he still saw the scrawny undernourished fifteen-year-old he’d first met, not the near-adult about to graduate from high school.

“I know,” Jack returned just as softly. Then he studied Mac’s face and smirked. “Although not right now, you’re not.”

“Yeah? And whose fault is that?” Mac sniped, finishing the soup.

Jack’s mouth fell open. “Are you actually trying to blame _me_ for your cold?”

“Where do you think I got it?”

“I _told_ you to stay away so you didn’t catch my germs.”

“You also rang the bell every ten minutes, trapped me in bed, and slobbered all over me.”

“I did _not_—”

“And called me a monkey.”

Jack was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I do remember something about monkeys.”

“Told you.” Mac’s triumph was short-lived as he began coughing again.

“Hey, let me get you that cough syrup.”

Mac wanted to protest, considering how goofy it had made Jack, but he figured that was probably mostly because Jack had taken an extra dose. And he would do almost anything at this point to stop the burning in his throat and lungs. He swallowed the purple liquid, thankful he was too congested to taste anything, and blushed when Jack handed him the freshly heated JJ.

“Wanna head back to bed?” Jack offered quietly.

“Nah. Can’t sleep.”

“All right. Wanna sit up in the recliner for a while?”

Mac allowed his dad to wrap an arm around his shoulders and lead him to the living room, but he drew the line at sharing the rocking chair. Jack didn’t push being allowed into the chair next to him, instead snatching the closest throw blanket and tucking it carefully around his son. Since his bare feet were getting a little cold, Mac didn’t protest.

Jack left the room, and Mac tried to ignore the tiny bit of hurt he felt. He didn’t need his dad to sit up with him. There was no reason Jack couldn’t go to bed.

“Here ya go, kiddo.”

Mac was still too congested to sleep, but he had been zoning out. He yanked his gaze back to see his dad offering him a mug of…something. Mac couldn’t smell it, but steam was rising in little tendrils. He accepted it and took a cautious sip, smiling when he encountered the miniature marshmallows. Hot chocolate, then. Not coffee. Considering Jack had brought a mug for himself, he supposed it made sense. Although they both occasionally switched to decaf, something Dr. Amanda had suggested to Mac, they preferred their coffee strong and caffeinated. That wouldn’t help Jack if he wanted to go back to sleep, and it probably wouldn’t mix well with the cold medicine Mac had taken.

Jack settled onto the couch with a sigh, sipping from his own mug. “Nothing beats hot chocolate when you’re under the weather, huh?”

Mac was remembering all the times Jack had fixed hot cocoa for him, generally when he had a sore throat, but also when it was cold outside, or Mac had had a bad day, or alongside smores on National Toasted Marshmallow Day. It was a comfort food for Jack, Mac had recognized early, something that reminded him of his own childhood. It had become that for Mac, too, especially when Jack started adding the marshmallows Mac loved and that Jack merely tolerated.

Mac was embarrassed to find tears stinging his eyes. He coughed—he’d been doing that a lot, so it didn’t seem suspicious—and said, “You said that about Bozer’s chicken soup last week.”

Jack tilted his head, thinking about it. “Yeah, that was good,” he acknowledged. “Guess maybe there can be two things.”

Mac stared into his nearly empty mug. “You think maybe instant hot chocolate tastes as good?” He couldn’t hide the wistfulness in his voice.

Jack gasped dramatically. “What is this sacrilege I’m hearin’? _Instant_? I raised you better than that, son.”

A smile ghosted over Mac’s lips.

“Kiddo?” Jack’s voice was softer. “What’s goin’ on in that ginormous brain of yours, huh?”

Mac shrugged. “Just thinking.”

There was silence.

“Well, I figured that one out, kid,” Jack said dryly. “Even an average guy like me can tell when a genius is overheatin’ his noggin.”

Mac wanted to roll his eyes, but they felt a little crusty, so he aimed a half-hearted glare instead. “Stop saying that.”

“What? That you’re a genius? It’s true. They don’t accept just anyone at MIT, you know.”

Mac looked away.

“Son? You…wanna talk about something?”

Mac lifted one shoulder. “It’s dumb.”

“It isn’t.”

“You don’t even know—”

“Kid, how many times we gotta have this conversation? If it’s buggin’ you, it isn’t dumb.”

Mac sighed. “I was just…thinking about next year.”

Jack waited while Mac wiped his nose with a tissue, but the teen didn’t continue. “Gonna be a lot of changes,” he offered cautiously.

“Yeah.” Mac looked down at the now-empty mug and put it on the coffee table. “I—I’ll have to drink instant cocoa. And—and maybe canned soup.”

He could tell Jack was fighting down several exclamations.

“I mean, it’s good, Jack. It’s fine. It’s a dumb thing to be thinking about.”

“Hey. I told you already it isn’t dumb. And yeah, you’re not gonna be close enough for me and Bozer to pop over with dinner every day.”

Mac smiled at that image. He had no doubt if he’d chosen a school closer to home, that was exactly what Jack _would_ do. He felt a spark of gratitude that MIT was on the other side of the country.

“But I seem to remember a certain little monkey promisin’ to come home on holidays and vacations.”

Mac groaned. “How is _that_ the only thing you remember?”

“And—” Jack huffed and ran a hand over his short hair. “I mean, it’s no secret I’m gonna miss you like all get-out, son. But—you listenin’ to me?” He gave Mac a stern look until he nodded. “I am so proud of you. _So_ proud. You’re gonna love it there. Remember that campus visit? Man, I’ve never seen so many nerds all in one place. You’ll fit right in.”

“You calling me a nerd?” But there was no heat behind the words.

“I promised not to lie to you, son.”

Mac couldn’t contain his muffled snort.

“Any change is hard, bud. And not everything about it will be good. But—”

“You’ll call me every day. I know. You’ve said that _many_ times already.”

“Yeah, I was gonna say that it’ll be more good things than bad. But that reminds me, we need to get you a new phone next month or so.”

Mac thought about arguing that his phone was only a couple years old, but they’d already had this “discussion,” and he had no desire to be accused of whining again. Not when the outcome would be the same.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

Jack ignored the implied complaint. “That’s one of those good things. Bet there’s lots of others. Like…” He trailed off meaningfully.

“Like the classes and the labs and the professors,” Mac finished dutifully, only a bit sullen.

“Well, I was gonna say the parties and the girls and the—y’know—all-nighters.” Jack’s face contorted as though he’d been mid-wink before changing his mind and attempting to save it with a blink instead.

“Because…you want me to forget all the times you told me not to do drugs?”

“Drugs?” Jack looked offended. “I was talkin’ about maybe a beer here and there. Man, how bad is that cold messin’ with your head? You know better than that.” He fixed his son with a flinty stare. “Do we need to—”

“Jack!” The extra effort Mac put into cutting off his dad’s rant caused him to start coughing again. Jack dashed to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water.

“Sorry, bud. Didn’t mean to get you all wound up. You wanna head back to bed?”

After a few more sips, Mac set the glass on the end table next to him and shook his head. “Still can’t sleep.”

“Mm.” Jack seemed to realize it wasn’t just the cold keeping Mac awake. “Well, wanna watch a movie or somethin’, then?”

“A movie?”

“You know, a _motion picture_. A _film_. _Cinema_.”

“Are you done?”

“A _talkie_.”

“How old are you?”

“Old enough to be your dad. Now you gonna pick something or just take a chance on Jack’s Wheel of Jeopardy?”

The eye roll, while unable to be as dramatic as usual with his eyelashes gummed together, was still satisfying enough to offset the discomfort.

“You have to get up in the morning,” Mac protested when Jack had stopped chuckling. “So do I, actually.”

“You really think you’re goin’ to school in that condition?”

“It’s just a cold, Jack.”

“And if you’re not sleeping now, you’re sure not gettin’ up in the morning.”

It wasn’t worth fighting. Jack had already turned on the television, and Mac was too comfortable to move, burrowed into his favorite chair, snuggled under a fuzzy blanket, a toasty-warm JJ soft and solid against his chest.

He attempted one last protest. “You shouldn’t stay awake just because I am.”

Jack shrugged it off. “Light day tomorrow. Least this way, when you’re pullin’ all-nighters with your new little nerd friends, I can say I got to have ‘em with you first.”

Mac just shook his head. The cough syrup seemed to be taking effect because he felt a little floaty. Not sleepy, but pleasantly light.

“Jack?” he mumbled.

“Mm-hm?”

“You always call yourself average.”

There was a beat of silence. “Well, I’m certainly no genius like you, son. I’m okay with that.”

“I’m not.”

Jack blinked. “Um…”

“You’re not average, Jack.”

Even with eyelids fluttering, Mac could tell Jack was looking at him affectionately. “That right, kiddo?”

“Yeah.” Mac forced his eyes open to meet Jack’s gaze. “You’re…_anything_ but average.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, [**National Toasted Marshmallow Day**](https://nationaldaycalendar.com/national-toasted-marshmallow-day-august-30-2) is on August 30.


	5. Post My Only Guiding Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of James's death, both Jack and Mac are too confused and troubled to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set after [**My Only Guiding Light**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18725830). It is not necessary to read that one first, but be aware that Jack and Diane are now married, Riley is living with them, and Mac is attending MIT.
> 
> WARNINGS: referenced character death (James), explicit discussion of ambiguous loss and possible disenfranchised and/or complicated grief

Jack couldn’t sleep.

He rolled onto his back, tucking his hands behind his head, careful not to disturb Diane, who was slumbering peacefully next to him. He stared at the ceiling for a while.

If Diane did wake up, he planned to tell her he was just worried about Mac. Maybe slip out of bed on the pretext of checking on him, giving her a kiss and urging her to go back to sleep before he left. And if he knew his wife, she’d smile at him, squeeze his hand, and then relax, confident that the “Mac-whisperer” would take care of the boy she saw as a son. She would believe the excuse implicitly because it would be true.

It just wasn’t the whole truth.

Jack _was_ worried about Mac, something he realized years ago was a constant state, even if sometimes it was just a quiet murmur in the back of his mind. He was worried that Mac was feeling guilty, feeling angry, feeling lost and adrift.

But Jack was also confused. He could feel his adrenaline spiking and fading in that way it did when he knew he wasn’t in danger but his body couldn’t seem to remember that.

He had no idea how he felt about James MacGyver’s death.

A tiny part of him, the good, decent part, the part that had been a mere flickering ember before Mac had come into his life—that part felt sorry for James. Sorry that he’d missed out on the amazing person that was Angus MacGyver Dalton. Sorry that his wife’s death had apparently destroyed him in a way that had never let him recover, not even for the sake of the most brilliant, thoughtful, precious boy in the entire world.

But then the anger roared back. James had only himself to blame. Sure, life had dealt him a harsh blow, but it had also gifted him with something incredible, and he’d thrown that away. He could have sought professional help while he was grieving. He could have allowed Mac to see that he was hurting and shown the child that even when things hurt, they got better. He could have _not abused and neglected his son_.

The anger was stronger now, and Jack had to get up to pace, still cautious in his movements so as not to wake Diane. He eased the door shut behind him silently. He stared back for a second, a pang of…nostalgia?...overcoming him. When Mac had first moved in, Jack had learned to leave his bedroom door ajar when he was inside. He’d discovered if he didn’t, Mac took it as a sign he wasn’t allowed in, and back then, the boy was too timid to knock.

Within a matter of months, the touch-starved teen had stopped sneaking into his dad’s room at night for the physical reassurance he craved—something Jack mourned to this day—but Jack had continued to leave the door slightly open. That had only stopped when he and Diane got married. By then, Mac was confident enough that Jack believed he’d knock if he truly needed something, although he was far more likely to text or call. Or, Jack admitted, Mac would probably just wait until morning.

The anger was boiling now, along with a pain so sharp it almost stopped the man in his tracks. When would Mac be free of the psychological damage James had inflicted? Ever?

Jack wished for the hundredth time that he’d opened that stupid letter from DHS instead of forwarding it straight to Mac at MIT. He should have known it couldn’t be anything good, but Riley had been the one to bring in the mail that day, and he couldn’t be the guy who taught his stepdaughter that it was okay to read someone else’s mail. They’d already been in trouble with Diane when they’d teamed up to deal with someone at school who was cyberstalking one of Riley’s friends. Granted, Riley had done most of the investigative work, but Jack had encouraged it and had helped scour the photos for clues.

And that kid had _deserved_ what he’d gotten. Mac didn’t deserve to have his privacy invaded.

Jack wished he had anyway. He would have burned that letter without a single regret.

When Mac called him, voice oddly devoid of emotion, after sending a photo of the brief, polite paragraph informing him of his biological father’s passing, Jack felt only concern for his son. For how Mac would take the news. For how Mac was dealing—or not dealing—with it. For how it might mess with Mac’s concentration at school or his already slipshod eating-and-sleeping routines or his delicately balanced psyche.

Mac wasn’t fragile. He was stronger and more resilient than anyone Jack knew. He didn’t think the news would _break_ Mac.

But that didn’t mean it couldn’t hurt him.

And then Jack had experienced a rush of triumph, somehow feeling that he had finally won. That was ridiculous, of course. He had won the moment Mac said he wanted Jack to be his dad. He had never been in competition with James, simply because James had never bothered to compete.

That didn’t stop Jack, those first several months, from comparing himself to his son’s biological father. He knew the kid’s life was better in every way since living with Jack, but that didn’t mean everything was perfect. Whenever Mac was anything less than happy and content, Jack felt like a failure. He couldn’t keep his son safe from every bad thing in the world—bullies and germs and accidents with the horses could slip past even Jack Dalton’s defenses. But he couldn’t stop trying until Mac was smiling again.

He was glad James was dead. James had, per the court agreement, kept his distance after the adoption, had moved someplace Jack never knew. And since Mac turned eighteen, it wasn’t as though James could do anything to fight to regain custody.

But as far as Jack was concerned, James MacGyver didn’t deserve to be alive. It was only Mac’s good heart that had kept the man from being arrested for child abuse, child endangerment, neglect, and a host of other things Jack had looked up all those years ago—just to have the information when he “talked” with James. Not to fantasize about James in prison. Of course not.

But that good heart of Mac’s was probably not helping Mac deal with this…loss, if one could call it that. The kid—no matter how old he got, he’d always be Jack’s kid—was likely tossing and turning, wrestling through nightmares right now, feeling guilty for not being there with James at the end, feeling hurt that he’d never been the son James had wanted even though that was only because James had been no kind of father, feeling angry at James and at himself and maybe at the whole world.

And maybe, on some subconscious level, resenting Jack for not being his biological father.

That hurt, hurt so much Jack felt lightheaded, but he couldn’t blame his son. Emotions had to have an outlet, had to be focused somewhere.

Jack needed an outlet too. He slipped into the first pair of shoes he saw, grabbed a jacket, and strode into the night.

~~~

Mac couldn’t sleep.

He was unreasonably disappointed in himself for this failing because he was home, safe in his own bed, the place he always slept best. As much as he loved MIT, he generally only caught two- or three-hour stretches of sleep at a time. Between the excitement of discovery and innovation, the noise of the dormitory, and the adequate but hardly luxurious dorm-room bed, Mac generally counted himself lucky if he could sleep for a few hours, get up to work or take care of something, and then sleep for a few more.

So when he was home, he took full advantage. He hated missing out on time with his family and friends, but Jack seemed to understand, prohibiting him from helping out at the stable for more than an hour or two—and that was mostly to placate Pepper and laugh at Herschel’s antics—and declaring that the “college boy” did not need to do any of the household chores. Riley had said nothing at that, but her eyes had flashed dangerously, and Mac worried about offending his stepsister until Jack and Diane announced that while Mac was home, Riley was also excused from her chores so she could spend more time with her brother.

Mac spent at least eight full hours in bed every night, JJ warm and heavy and reassuring on his chest, and he frequently catnapped on the sofa in the living room or—when he could be sure his dad wouldn’t try to crawl in with him—in the recliner. He had already awoken on the couch on more than one occasion with his head unexpectedly pillowed in Jack’s lap. He’d tried to convince Riley to hug Jack more while Mac was away so their dad wouldn’t be quite so clingy, but Riley had arched one eyebrow, informed him that an average of once a day was her limit, and told him to suck it up.

It wasn’t as if Mac minded, not really. He wouldn’t tell Jack this, but he actually slept more deeply and woke more refreshed when Jack’s calloused hand was running through his hair.

James had never done that.

If he had when Mac was very young, he didn’t remember. He had the feeling he remembered his mother tucking him in at night, but his early memories were hazy, even happy ones somehow tainted by grief. And when he tried to concentrate too hard on them, they tended to morph into more recent memories of Jack fluffing his pillows or straightening his covers or stroking his hair or smiling in that way that said that Mac was worth the entire world.

James had never looked at Mac like that.

And now he would never have the chance.

Mac didn’t think it was pain settling in his chest. Didn’t think grief felt like this. Because grief was a feeling, wasn’t it? Not…an absence of feelings.

He didn’t miss James, not the way he missed Jack and Bozer and Riley and Diane and Katie when he was away from home. If someone were to offer him the chance to talk to his biological father one more time, he probably wouldn’t accept. He had nothing to say to that man, and he knew for sure that James wouldn’t have had anything to say that Mac wanted to hear.

Now there wasn’t even a chance of that changing.

Mac rolled over and punched a pillow, furious with himself. He had managed to go yea—mon—week…He’d managed to think about James very minimally during all the time he’d lived with Jack. Jack was his dad. Jack had _chosen_ him. And Mac had chosen Jack.

The adoption wasn’t because James had rejected Mac. No, _Mac_ had rejected life with a man who was incapable of loving him, who refused to care for him, who forgot he existed half the time and was disappointed him the rest of the time.

It was the best decision of Mac’s life.

He wondered sometimes if James regretted it. If James ever thought of him. Missed him. Wished he’d done things differently.

On his worst days, when all he could do was curl up in Jack’s bed and wait for time to pass, he’d sometimes imagined James walking back in, apologizing, begging for forgiveness, taking responsibility for all the times he’d blamed Mac for their “arguments.”

The only thing better than having Jack as his dad would be having Jack as his dad with his biological father on the sidelines in his life, cheering for him, supporting him, cherishing him from a slight distance.

It was a ridiculous fantasy.

And it was so disloyal to Jack that sometimes Mac couldn’t even meet his dad’s eyes. His _real_ dad. Jack had never once made him feel unwanted or unloved or unworthy, even when Mac knew he _didn’t_ deserve everything Jack gave him.

Jack deserved a son who didn’t spend so much time thinking about his—about James.

Mac dimly recognized the unhealthy patterns of thinking, something he and Dr. Amanda had spent a lot of time discussing back when he had regular appointments. He hadn’t seen her since starting at MIT, but he wondered if he should try to get in sometime in the next few days while he was home. He dreaded mentioning it to Jack. His dad might interpret it as Mac grieving, and he _wasn’t_ grieving.

At least, he didn’t think he was. And he sure didn’t want Jack to think that Mac considered James worth his grief.

He forced himself out of bed. Even though he couldn’t sleep, the temptation was to huddle under the covers, as if life couldn’t hurt or confuse if he just managed to be still enough. Hard as it was, he knew from experience that physical activity could help calm the mental acrobatics that were keeping him awake.

He wandered aimlessly through the house, avoiding both his parents’ room and Riley’s bedroom. Riley had school in the morning, and Jack and Diane would need to work. He didn’t want to wake anyone.

He slipped noiselessly into the living room, remembering all the times he and Jack had watched movies together, or eaten snacks that Jack would bring out anytime he thought Mac would be in one place long enough to eat something, or just sat and talked together, sometimes about serious things, and sometimes just laughing and joking, sharing an easy banter that Mac had never known was possible with one’s father.

When Diane and Riley moved in, Mac had had a brief flash of alarm, almost jealousy, at the thought of others invading their space. But it didn’t feel as though they were taking over. It felt as though the room had expanded and held even more warmth now, the way it did when Mac’s friends hung out there instead of in his basement lair, which neither Diane nor Riley entered without Mac’s express invitation.

Mac no longer kept his iPad on the end table in the living room, and Riley almost always kept all her devices with her. Diane had declared that the wireless router would be turned off on school nights, an effort to ensure her teenaged daughter slept. Mac was pretty sure Riley would figure a way around that if she hadn’t already, but he didn’t share that with Diane.

Sitting and playing games on his phone or tablet probably wouldn’t be helpful right now anyway. Mac needed to move, and if he wanted to prevent anyone else from waking up, he should go outside. He stuffed his feet into a pair of shoes and opened the door.

He was just sending a quick text to Jack, knowing if his dad _did_ wake up and couldn’t immediately find him, Jack would panic. Just as he pressed _send_, he realized he wasn’t alone.

“Hey, kiddo.” Jack’s phone chimed, and he pulled it out, frowning and then snorting at the message. “Yeah, I see you’re outside. Hi.”

Mac shuffled awkwardly. “You’re awake.”

“Sharp as ever, ain’t ya, college-boy?” Jack’s voice was warm as he stepped forward and cautiously reached out a hand, settling it on the back of Mac’s neck when his son didn’t move away. “Couldn’t manage to remember a jacket, though, huh?”

For the first time, Mac noticed the chilly spring breeze, and he shivered in response.

“Here.” Jack automatically shrugged out of his own jacket and wrapped it around his son.

“Jack,” Mac protested, even as he slid his arms into the warm sleeves.

Jack shrugged. “I’m gettin’ hot anyway.”

Mac noticed the fine beads of sweat along Jack’s hairline, and he looked at the basketball at Jack’s feet. “Were you _attacking_ the ball instead of shooting it?”

“Smartass,” Jack said affectionately, not answering. It was true he had perhaps been a little more…_aggressive_ in shooting hoops than was warranted. “You come out here just to give me grief?”

Mac winced at the word choice, and Jack wanted to kick himself.

“Sorry, kid. You not sleeping?”

Mac turned away. “It’s dumb.”

“It’s not.”

“I just…wanted some exercise, okay?”

Jack nodded as though it were the most natural thing in the world to be standing outside in the wee hours of the morning. “Up for a game of HORSE?”

A small smile appeared on Mac’s face. It had been months since he and Jack had played one-on-one. “Usual stakes?”

“Hm, I’m not subjecting Diane and Riley to your attempts at breakfast when you lose, little boy.”

“_If_ I lose, I’ll get breakfast from Larry’s. Or you can, when I win.”

Jack grinned. “Pretty sure of yourself for a nerd who hangs out in classrooms all day.”

“Big talk from an old man who hasn’t won the last three games.”

“Well, maybe we shoudn’t’ve made the stakes breakfast. I don’t really like startin’ the morning with the kitchen on fire, you know.”

Mac laughed. “So you’re _letting_ me win?”

“Guess you’ll never know.”

They threw themselves into the game then, still calling cheerful insults back and forth. Mac was out of practice, it was true, but it was immediately apparent that Jack was too. Mac realized this was probably the first time Jack had used the basketball hoop since the last time they played together. As such, their shots were slower and less accurate than usual, and after twenty minutes, neither had won yet.

Mac was ahead with four baskets to Jack’s three when, by mutual consent, they paused, breathing heavily.

“You cold?” Mac panted solicitously.

“Nah.” Jack wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of one hand. “You too warm?”

Mac hadn’t thought about it, but he considered now, suddenly aware of a…hollowness inside that had nothing to do with temperature. He shook his head, but of course his dad caught the change in his body language.

“What’s wrong?” Jack tossed the ball aside to put both hands on either side of Mac’s neck, thumbs gently brushing his ears. “You feeling—” He stopped suddenly as if he didn’t know how to finish the question.

That was all right. Mac didn’t know how to answer it. “Yeah,” he half-laughed a bit wetly. “I don’t know.”

Jack just hummed in response, warm hands not moving away, grounding Mac, keeping him steady. “You…wanna talk about anything?” he finally offered tentatively.

Mac shrugged, eyes downcast. “Don’t know what to talk about.”

“That never stops me.” Jack was pleased when his teasing earned a slight smile.

“Jack…” Mac shook his head, overwhelmed. “You—I—” Out of words, Mac threw himself forward, grabbing his dad in a hug that clearly surprised him.

Jack recovered quickly, wrapping his arms around his son. “That’s nice,” he said into Mac’s hair. “What’s that for? Not that you need a reason.”

“Jack…” Mac spoke into his dad’s shoulder. “I—You deserve _so much_.”

“Uh—”

“I—I owe you everything. _Everything_.” Mac lifted his head but didn’t step away, and from the solid grip his dad had on him, he could tell Jack didn’t want him to. “I mean…” Mac waved a hand. “MIT, and the house, and Dr. Amanda, and—”

“Mac.” Jack’s voice was cautious, curious. “Where you goin’ with this? You’re my son. Of course I’m gonna make sure you have what you need.”

“Yeah. That. That’s the biggest thing.”

“What?”

“Your son.”

Jack tried to speak but found that he didn’t have the air to do so.

“I—I wouldn’t be anything if I weren’t your son.”

“Oh, kiddo.” Jack pulled Mac’s head back to his shoulder so he could rest his cheek on the soft blond hair. “That isn’t true.”

Mac wasn’t willing to argue the point right now. “You’re—you’re the most important person in the world, Jack. To me.”

He heard Jack sniff before a light kiss was pressed to the side of his head. “You know that’s how I feel about you too, bud.”

Even though those words sent a gushing waterfall of guilt along Mac’s spine, he was almost relieved at finally being able to identify something he was feeling.

“That—” Mac took a deep breath. “That doesn’t mean he was…nothing.”

Jack stiffened.

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” Jack said immediately. “Nothing to apologize for. I told you, anything you’re feeling is fine. He was your father.”

Mac shook his head. “You are.”

“Yeah,” Jack acknowledged. “But that doesn’t erase your whole life before I met you.”

Mac was silent for a while. “It’d be easier if it did.”

Jack snorted. “Yeah, probably. Kind of feel like my whole life was just previews before the movie until you came along.”

“You’re comparing me to a movie?”

“Yep,” Jack said unapologetically. “A blockbuster. Something epic.”

Mac was quiet again, thinking. “If life were a movie…”

“I’d be played by a young Bruce Willis?”

Mac rolled his eyes. “Keep telling yourself that, Jack.”

“You can be the kid from _Home Alone_.”

“Macaulay Culkin?”

“Back when he was Kevin.”

“He was ten years old when that came out, Jack.”

“Well, that’s about how old you look, so it works.”

Mac huffed, but his expression was fond. “You never give up, do you?”

“Nope. Why should I? I’ve got everything a man could ever want.” Jack squeezed his son more tightly.

“If life were a movie…” Mac hastened to finish his earlier thought before his dad could interrupt again. “There’d be a happy ending.”

Jack cocked his head. “No reason there can’t be a happy ending in real life too.”

Mac shrugged. “It won’t…be all nice and neat and tied up with a bow.”

“No…” Jack said slowly. “Life is messy.” When Mac didn’t respond, he continued. “Feelings are messy. Relationships are messy. And…all of that can mess with you, you know?”

“You’re getting cold,” Mac said unexpectedly.

Jack was startled, but he realized he was starting to feel the cool of the night through his thin t-shirt, even with his son snug and warm in his arms.

“We should go in.”

“You sure? Don’t want to wake Diane and Riley.”

Mac shrugged. “Are you planning on an impromptu karaoke night?”

“After all the complainin’ I got from you and Riles?” Jack fake shuddered as he turned toward the house, an arm still draped over Mac’s shoulders. “Not tryin’ that again. You woulda thought it was torture ‘stead of family fun night.”

“It _was_ torture.”

“Uh-huh. That why you kids were taking videos all night and giggling like schoolgirls?”

“That’s sexist, Jack. And it wasn’t all night. You took our phones away.”

“So you could concentrate on _family_.”

Mac carefully hung the borrowed jacket on a hanger as both men toed off their shoes. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, like father, like son.”

Mac turned to him and spoke in a breathless rush. “I’m glad you’re my dad. I’m glad he’s gone. I—I don’t want to think about him anymore. I wish—I wish I wasn’t.”

“Son.” Jack opened his arms again and felt the familiar burst of delight when Mac accepted the hug. “It’s _okay_ to think about him. It doesn’t change what we have.”

“It’s just…it isn’t fair that he gets to be part of my life.”

“No.” Jack brooded on that for a few minutes. “Your childhood wasn’t fair. But he isn’t part of your life, Mac. He’s part of your past.”

Mac thought about that for a while before nodding slowly. “Maybe it’s better to think about the future.”

Jack kissed his forehead and started leading him toward the living room. “You once told me it was possible to think about both. And I have no doubt my genius son can do it at the same time. Just not right now.”

“What are you doing?” Mac allowed himself to be tugged onto the couch.

“_We_ are watching _Home Alone_, of course.”

Mac blinked. “At…3:30am?”

“You got somewhere better to be?”

Mac knew he wasn’t going back to sleep, but Jack should. As if anticipating the protests, Jack held up a hand.

“I already rescheduled tomorrow’s lessons when we decided you were comin’ home. And _no_, it isn’t an issue. They were fine with changing to a different day. So my whole plan is to spend all the time with you that you’ll let me. Even if that’s at some ridiculous time of night.”

“Fine.” Mac knew he wasn’t winning this one, so he leaned back against the cushions, resting his head on his dad’s shoulder. “Remember that you owe me breakfast.”

“I didn’t lose.”

“You called it quits, and I was ahead.”

“Fine. I’ll order something from Larry’s, and you’ll eat whatever I get for you.”

That wasn’t much of a threat. Over the years, Mac had been to Jack’s favorite diner so often he was pretty sure he’d tried everything on the menu. To date, he hadn’t found anything he didn’t like.

“And that means _every bite_.”

Ah.

“I do eat at MIT, you know.”

“Not enough.”

Mac rolled his eyes. “Are you ever going to stop obsessing about—”

“No.”

Mac raised his eyebrows.

“No, I am never gonna stop being _interested_ in my son’s life. Including his health. And his happiness. And—”

“You’re such a dad,” Mac grumped.

“That’s me,” Jack agreed cheerfully, pressing his lips to the top of his son’s head. “Now hush and start the movie.” He handed Mac the remote.

Maybe life _was_ like a movie, Mac thought hazily as he half-watched the familiar scenes. Or like a series of movies. One ended and another began, but they were connected and influenced each other. And life couldn’t guarantee a happy ending, but if one were with the right people, at least there would be a happy journey.

Tomorrow, Mac decided. Well, later today. He would visit the grave where he was told James was buried. He would take Jack with him. Say goodbye properly. Try to let go of the past.

He had his whole future in front of him.


	6. Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to a food coma, neither Mac nor Jack can stay awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place later than any of the others. Mac is in his second year at MIT and is home for Thanksgiving.
> 
> Brief references to [**Ground Rules**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17594054) and an almost unnoticeable reference to slightly_ajar's glorious [**Fire + Ice + Truth**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19804858).
> 
> I kind of feel like I should include a warning about the massive overeating that happens in this chapter, but it's actually pretty standard for American Thanksgiving. This is just pure, tooth-rotting, fluffy fluff.

“Ugh.” Mac groaned as he scooped up the last bite of sweet-potato casserole. “I am so full.” He shoved his plate onto the coffee table and slumped down on the couch where he’d moved for their “post-Thanksgiving-meal snack.”

“Never gonna eat again,” Jack agreed, transferring the last slice of pumpkin pie from the tin to his plate and relaxing back into the rocking chair.

“I can’t believe Diane and Riley had the energy for pre-Black Friday shopping.”

Jack shrugged. “You know women. The urge to shop overrides all else.” He sent his son a sluggish wink. “Don’t tell your mom I said that, okay?”

Mac’s lips quirked. “Maybe. If you give me that pie.”

Jack scowled. “Half,” he negotiated.

“Half, plus you clean up the living room before they get home, or I’ll tell Riley you called her a shopaholic.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Jack grumbled. “You wouldn’t really tell Riles something like that, would you? Get her all riled up?”

Mac rolled his eyes. “For the sixty-third time, that isn’t funny.”

“It just hasn’t struck you the right way yet.”

“So you’ll keep trying.”

“Yup.”

“Anyway, you said you were full.” Mac stretched out his hand for the dessert.

“So did you.”

“But you want me to eat more, right?” Even in a state of near-exhaustion, Mac managed to widen his eyes in his best puppy-dog look. It wasn’t as deadly as it had been in his younger years, but it still worked like magic on his dad.

Jack muttered under his breath as he looked from the pie on his plate to his son. Then a sly smile stole across his face. “Tell you what. I’ll clean up later and let you have half…if you come over here.” He scooted as far to the side of the armchair as he could.

Mac’s eyes narrowed. “Jack.”

“Mac.”

“Don’t you think I’m a little old to be rocking with my dad?”

Jack pretended to think for a minute. “Umm…nope.”

“Okaaay…don’t you think—”

“I think you’re stalling. Now get over here. You’re not too old for a time-out.”

Mac rolled his eyes. “That didn’t work on Riley. What makes you think it’ll work on me?”

Jack just huffed, set his plate on the side table, leaned forward with a grunt and snagged Mac’s hand. “I said c’mere.”

Too tired to put up much resistance, Mac let himself be pulled away from the couch. “Jack, we’re not both going to fit there,” he complained.

“You callin’ me fat?”

“Of course—”

“’Cause I’ll have you know that I am in great shape. Diane certainly thinks so.”

“Ugh, Jack, why do you have to go there?”

“Get in here. Plenty of room.”

Mac found himself falling into the chair. “Jack. I’m not…as small as I was.”

Jack studied his son fondly. It was true that Mac was nearly as tall as his father now, had gained some weight and some muscle so he was lean rather than skinny. But when Jack looked at him, he still saw his boy. His son.

“Remember what I told you?”

“You say a lot of things,” Mac grumped.

“Yeah, and you’re a genius. You oughtta remember ‘em.”

“You really want me to remember the whole rant about your ingrown toenail? ‘Cause I think we _all_ wish we could forget that one.”

“Smartass.” Jack wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulders and pushed his feet against the floor to set the chair in motion. Without thinking, Mac curled a little closer, the familiarity soothing. They hadn’t done this since before Mac left for MIT, but it felt…comforting. Like home. “I told you you’re never gonna be too big for me to hold you.”

Mac sighed. “Fine. Half the pie, and I won’t tell Diane and Riley what you said.”

Jack chuckled. “Deal. Only got one fork, though, so we’ll have to share.”

“No.” Mac struggled upright.

“Hey, where you goin’? Rules are still rules in this house, college-boy.”

“What?”

“We’re home alone. I get to hold you if I want. Remember?”

“Jack,” Mac growled, frustrated. “I’m just grabbing my fork.” He snatched it up from the plate on the coffee table. “Rule Number One doesn’t say anything about letting you feed me.”

“Yeah, all right,” Jack agreed, a bit too reluctantly for Mac’s liking.

Mac made a mental note that maybe he needed to video chat with his dad more while he was away so their holidays didn’t always devolve into…this. If he weren’t careful, Jack would find an excuse to tuck him into bed tonight. He wouldn’t be subtle about it, either. His excuse would probably be _I wanted to tuck you in_.

The two shared the slice of pie slowly, still stuffed from an enormous dinner, followed by a few hours of snacking in front of the football game.

“Uhhh.” Jack groaned, flopping back against the cushions and carelessly letting the empty plate clatter onto the table.

Mac followed suit with a moan of his own. “I am _so full_.”

Jack’s eyes had fallen shut, and he didn’t open them as he groped with one hand until he found Mac’s head. He began carding his fingers through the long blond hair. He wondered if Mac would be willing to get a haircut this weekend while he was home. “Me too, kid. I think maybe we ate a little too much.”

“You _think_?”

“You hush. You need all the food you can get. Unlike me.”

“I thought you said you were in great shape.”

“Yeah, well, I won’t be if we do that again.” The hand that wasn’t in Mac’s hair waved randomly, encompassing all the dishes still littering the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen.

“Good thing Thanksgiving is only once a year,” Mac mumbled, wondering when his eyes had closed. Jack was warm under his side, his shoulder still just the right height to rest his cheek on, if Mac snuggled down into the cushions a bit. The fingers combing through his hair were strong and calloused and familiar and _home_.

Jack hummed. “I’d risk it more often if it meant you could come home.”

“Jack,” Mac chided wearily.

“I know, I know. I won’t start. I’m proud of you, son, I am. You know that.”

Mac yawned. “Yeah, I know.”

“Just miss you. That’s all.” Jack sounded so sleepy that Mac wondered if he even knew what he was saying.

“I miss you too,” he admitted quietly. “It’s…nice to be home for a while.”

“Mmm. Wanna play that Thanksgiving game Diane always makes us do before we eat?”

Mac’s nose scrunched. “You mean saying what we’re thankful for? That’s not a game, Jack.”

“Yeah? Then how come I always win?”

“You don’t.” Mac turned his face so he was nuzzled a little more deeply into his father’s shirt. “You just always say you do.”

“Well, pretty sure I come up with the best answer.”

“You always have the same answer.”

“Yeah? You got something better than _family_ to be thankful for?” Jack cracked his eyes open as he shifted to pull his son closer.

Unbeknownst to Jack and Diane, Mac and Riley always had a side bet going about which of them could think of the best response, as measured by the time it took an adult to respond. Bonus points were awarded for either parent’s jaw dropping or eyes bugging out. Riley usually won, mostly because as the youngest at the table, she spoke first, so by the time it was Mac’s turn, Jack and Diane were more prepared. But this time, Mac was the undisputed champion.

_“You’re thankful for the ventilation system?” Jack asked disbelievingly._

_“The vestibular system,” Mac corrected. “Because it allows us to balance and have spatial awareness when we move. Without it, we would be too dizzy and disoriented to walk or even stand. Even turning our heads might cause nausea.”_

_“Uh-huh…” Jack drawled, his eyes starting to glaze over. Diane was still staring, eyebrows raised, and Mac shot Riley a triumphant look before continuing._

_“That’s why getting Sparky to move fluidly is so difficult. Because he doesn’t have a vestibular system.” He continued before Jack could protest him bringing up his “creepy science project” that would, according to his dad, soon take over MIT and after that, the world. “So I’m thankful that we have one.”_

_He started counting in his head, smirking at his sister when there was dead silence for more than the four seconds her “quarks” answer had caused. Riley couldn’t know it, but Mac had mentioned quarks to Jack once, so their dad wasn’t as discombobulated by her response as she’d expected._

_It was nice to win Thanksgiving._

But right now, Mac was too sleepy to bring up any of that.

“Family is a pretty good answer,” he acknowledged softly.

Jack’s arms tightened. “The best.” He yawned widely. “All that turkey and stuffing and potatoes ‘n gravy gettin’ to you?”

“There’s not enough tryptophan in turkey to actually cause sleepiness,” Mac said hazily. “It’s just the amount of food.”

“Food coma.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Eh. I don’t have anywhere to be. You?”

“Mm. Right here.” Mac knew it was the right answer when Jack pressed a kiss to his forehead. “But we’ve got to get up before they get home.”

“’Kay,” Jack agreed blearily. “We’ll wake up ‘fore then.”

~~~

Riley enjoyed teasing her brother, and she was always delighted to poke fun at her stepdad, but even she admitted they were a cute pair when she and Diane walked in a few hours later. They were both stretched out in the recliner, Jack’s hand still in Mac’s hair, Mac partially on top of Jack since there wasn’t much room on the seat next to him. Jack was snoring contentedly, while Mac drooled on his dad’s shirt that he was clutching in one fist.

Riley took a photo—of _course_—but she didn’t, despite Diane’s warning glance, have any nefarious plans. She wouldn’t embarrass Mac by showing Bozer or Katie or any of his other friends. It would make a good gift for Jack, though. She’d probably win Christmas.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she whispered.

Jack stirred just enough to open one eye halfway, taking in the fond expression on his wife’s face, his daughter’s tolerant smile, and his son still fast asleep in his arms. He felt his heart swell with love and gratitude.

“Yeah,” Jack said, looking around again at his family. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, whether or not you celebrate the holiday! I am thankful for this fandom and everyone in it, eternally grateful to dickgrysvn for this universe and to slightly_ajar for being my co-conspirator in it, and especially appreciative of all of you who take the time to read these stories. Your support and encouragement mean the world to me. Thank you!


End file.
